Pretty Little Doll
by Quothia
Summary: Rodolphus knows his wife is slipping away from him, infatuated by her master. He knows, and it is killing him. A short one-shot.


I felt Rodolphus's hand snake slowly up my back and instinctively, I pulled away. His touch disgusted me. Even when I pretended with all my might he was my Lord, the nights I was obliged to spend in his company were long and tedious.

"Bella, please?"

"Not tonight, Rodolphus," I said curtly, and pulled the covers up to my chin, ready for another night of pleasant dream filled with the majestic presence of the Dark Lord.

Rodolphus looked irritated. "Merlin, Bella, I know you resent me being in your bed instead of _him _but you're my wife! You can't just ignore me and pretend I don't exist. I'm not him, Bellatrix, as much as you might wish I was."

I turned over in our bed to face him "No. You're not," I spat back at him. "Not even close. You'll never be anything like him."

A faint red blush crept up Rodolphus's face and coloured his cheeks. Red- like the Dark Lord's eyes, I thought, and then tried to shake the thought out of my mind and concentrate on my furious, spurned husband.

"You're thinking of him again, aren't you?" said Rodolphus, incredulously. "I can see it in your eyes. They change when you think of him, Bellatrix, did you know that? Hell, woman, you're infatuated! He's got you twisted so far round his little finger, I don't know where you end and he begins."

He was angry- dangerously- but I had coped with much shook his head in disbelief and fury. He pushed me roughly off the bed then took a clump of my long, black hair in his fist and forcibly lifted me up by it.

"I loved you!" he bellowed, and I cowered backwards, imprisoned in his clutches. "I loved you and you never even tried to love me back. It's him; it's always been him! Why can I never be good enough for you? What makes him so much better than me?"

He was screaming with his face pressed right up to mine. It was flushed puce and glimmering with sweat. There were tears streaming down his cheeks and he looked deranged.

"I cannot love you. Please, don't ask me to do that because I just can't," I begged.

I was crying too, tears flowing steadily and silently down my face, my voice little more than a whisper.

"I love him. I have since the moment I met him and he loves me too." I told him hoarsely.

"Please, Rodolphus…"

"No," he roared. "He doesn't love you. He does not love. Can't you see, Bella? He lusts after you, sure, but he will never love. He knows you would do anything for him and he uses you! He doesn't think you're special and he doesn't love you; he just wants you to do whatever he wants. You're like a toy to him: a pretty, willing little doll."

"He loves me," I insisted once more. "I know he does. He tells me things he would never dream of confiding to anyone else. I am his favourite, his most loyal…"

"You are a silly little girl who is playing with things that are too big and powerful for her. You're playing with fire, Bella, and I don't want you t get hurt,"

But I could see it was not really me whose pain he was concerned with. Rodolphus's eyes were filled with deep suffering and I felt a moment's pity for the insignificant little man I was forced to call husband.

"I don't care if I get hurt," I told him proudly. "I revel in pain, Rodolphus, as you very well know."

"You do not know the meaning of the word, Bellatrix! Pain isn't enduring the cruciatus curse or bearing the latest twisted torture the Dark Lord decides to pleasure himself by inflicted on his "favourite". Pain is knowing that your own wife doesn't love you and never will. That she is infatuated with a man who only wishes to use her for his own satisfaction before he will surely just dispose of her. Pain is never being good enough for the women you love! You, know what, Bellatrix? You're pathetic. You and that wretched Lord of yours; you deserve each other."

He still had hold of my hair and was holding oh even harder now.

"You want pain, Bellatrix? I'll give you pain," and he struck me hard across the face with his solid fist.

I went sprawling across the bedroom floor and felt several teeth loose in my mouth. I tasted blood.

He had hit me. My husband had hit me! Worse, than that: he had insulted my master. He had called Lord Voldemort, the greatest man that ever lived, "pathetic".

A sneer creased my features and a stood up shakily. Rodolphus was staring at his bloodied fist in disbelief, not believing that he had dared to strike me and, no doubt, hoping that the Dark Lord would not find out.

I laughed; low and cackling. As if his pitiable Muggle brawling could compare with the powerful ancient arts the Dark Lord had tutored me in. As if he could ever compare to the Lord.

"Don't you _ever_ insult the Dark Lord like that again. He is ten times the wizard you will ever be," I spat.

I reached for my wand in the pocket of my robes and pointed it at him as I had pointed in at Lucius, my only friend, all those years ago. Rodolphus shrunk back towards the wall and a look of fear flashed across his face.

"Bellatrix…you wouldn't," he stammered.

"Wouldn't I?" I asked; and we both knew the answer.

"_Crucio!" _I shrieked, as I called to mind the curse I had spent so long with my Master perfecting until I was able to cause optimum pain. The curse that brought his face to my mind every time I uttered it.

At the force of the curse, the man I loathed to call husband rose up into the air, yelping out in pain with his face contorted. He could not speak for agony but I saw the words in his eyes, now rolled back so only the bloodshot whites were visible.

_How could you? _

Oh quite easily, Rodolphus dear, I thought. And I threw back my head and laughed.


End file.
